


Yes, Professor Kuroo

by just_j



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Kuroo and Reader attempt to deny their feelings, Kuroo is a professor, Mutual Pining, Oikawa is a great wingman, Reader is his graduate student, Romance, they're around the same age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_j/pseuds/just_j
Summary: You weren’t expecting to get paired with the young and attractive Dr. Kuroo as your faculty mentor when you became a graduate student. And everything is fine until you both let it go a little too far one night in the dark quiet of the library. To preserve your careers, both of you attempt to ignore your feelings. It doesn't go very well.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small note to start off, Reader and Kuroo are around the same age, Kuroo is just a young professor

You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting what your faculty member that you’d be working with for your graduate career to be like, but it had been more along the lines of: crotchety old man, white hair, still sporting tweed suit jackets from the seventies. It definitely never crossed your mind that a young man, probably around your age, you’d guess a bit older since he was already a faculty member, would greet you on your first day.

You also weren’t expecting him to be fucking drop dead gorgeous—and you mean ovary _melting_ , cliché totally _swooning_ material. Never in your life have you felt so nervous around a person before. It really wasn’t fair in the slightest. And on top of it all, he was amiable. The two of you got along swimmingly, half in part to how close you are in age and the other half since you’re both mad about biotechnology.

You tried. You really did. Tried not to develop a crush on him. But the more you got to know him, the more days spent together, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper because it wasn’t just about looks anymore. You _liked_ him. A lot too. You can’t even explain _why_. You learned rather quickly he’s no lady killer like he’s looks suggested—oh no. He’s the biggest dork you’ve ever met. And now you’re head over heels with no hope of going back. It was a rather futile attempt to resist it.

Sitting at your desk, you rub your hands over your face trying to get those thoughts out of your head. Or at least shove them to the far depths of your brain so you can continue to act like everything is fine and not like your heart is going to overwork itself anytime he’s anywhere _near_ you. And god—was that getting increasingly difficult. With your first year ending and presenting your research at the National Biotech Conference coming up, the two of you have been spending more and more late nights in the lab together. _Alone_.

You might as well dig your grave now.

Just a few nights ago the night ended early because he set off the fire alarm making a hot pocket. The two of you too enamored with the project to notice the microwave on the verge of combusting. Why the hell he put it in there for _five minutes_ was beyond you, but he tried to explain that he was planning on taking it out before the timer ran out. The memory of it makes the corner of your mouth quirk upward.

“You bored out of your mind already?” A voice teases from behind you, making you to jolt in your seat.

_Speak of the devil._

You turn in your chair to find none other than the root of your problems: Dr. Kuroo. Jesus _fuck_ you can barely look straight at him without feeling some sort of nerves ball up in your stomach.

Giving him a weak smile, you say, “Those all-nighters are really getting the best of me.”

His eyes soften and _christ_ —you need medical help to deal with the way your heart is stuttering in your chest. By the end of this conversation you’re going to need a defibrillator with the way he smiles at you sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “ _Riiiight_. About those….” He avoids your gaze and you already know what’s coming.

“Another one tonight?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Sorry about that. We’re just really down to the wire now. I want to make sure everything is set.”

You wave him off, there’s nothing to apologize for. You knew what you were getting into here. And you know it’s only his second conference as a distinguished member of the community, so he has a standard to uphold.

A startled gasp escapes you when his voice appears right next to your goddamn ear, his warm breath against your skin practically sending you into a frenzy. “You working on the statistics?” The nod you give him is almost imperceptible, afraid any movements from you are going to give away how his proximity is making you feel. His eyes scan your screen before patting you on the shoulder. “Looks good so far, send it to me when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding when he moves away.

How the fuck are you going to survive the next year?

Hell—how are you going to survive a week-long convention with him?

As he heads back to his own desk, Kuroo glances warily around the office to make note of any suspicious onlookers. It’s been harder and harder to keep that professional line with you, and every public conversation you shared he was highly aware to not slip into his easy mannerisms he found himself indulging in during all those late nights. Because fuck him—he liked you. Why did _he_ of all the options get assigned the one graduate student who is _his_ age and is fucking gorgeous on top of your academic prowess?

He never stood a chance.

He is barreling straight towards an academic violation at full speed and his brakes are broken. _That’s_ how bad it is.

But goddamn he can keep it in his pants for the sake of his job and your career.

That sentiment went to shit that night.

You’re late, which almost never happens. He can count on one hand the times you’ve been late. And you always texted him with your ETA and an explanation but tonight…silence. He knows you haven’t left, he saw you a little over an hour ago speaking to Dr. Yu, and a quick trip to your desk confirms it; all your stuff is still here.

He’s lucky to catch Dr. Yu on his way out, asking if he knows of your whereabouts. “You haven’t seen her?” His brows lift. “Must’ve gotten caught up in the library. Said she was going to stop by there before your meeting.”

Kuroo does an excellent job of hiding his confusion. _Meeting_? Is that what you’ve been disguising your all-nighters with him as to your colleagues?

That means you feel there’s a reason to keep it a secret.

Or is he reading too far into it?

Nonetheless, he strides towards the library, irked to find most of the lights off and it utterly silent inside. He checks the table area first, then peruses the shelf, peeking down each to see if you’re actually in here. It’s likely you already left and are now waiting for _him_ in the lab in the time since he’s begun looking for you.

He finds you in one of the farthest corners of the library and it isn’t until he approaches you does he realize the situation he’s just put the two of you in.

Alone.

In the dark library.

You’re sat deep into an armchair, legs curled up underneath you, head resting on your hand while you flip through the pages of a book sitting in your lap. You look so picturesque he can’t help but stare for a few seconds before clearing his throat to alert you to his presence.

He scares the absolute shit out of you.

Leaping out of the chair, the book clattering to the floor, you shout, “Holy fu—Dr. Kuroo! You can’t just _do_ that!” Then you blink, like your brain is catching up to you, then you frantically check your watch and outwardly groan. “I _knew_ I should have set an alarm. Sorry, just lost track of time back here.” Smirking softly, he takes a step forward, bending to pick up the book sprawled on the floor. He hands it to you, your fingertips brushing his, a jolt of lightning spearing through you at the contact.

Every sense of yours is filled with his presence, your head clouded with thoughts of what if you just…closed that gap. What would happen if you took just one step forward? Would he let you run your hands over his chest, snaking around his neck to tangle into his dark hair? What would it feel like to press your body against his?

Holy hell—you need to get _out_ of here.

It’s then that you realize you’ve been staring at him.

And that he’s holding your gaze, his golden eyes locked onto yours. The air is so charged you feel like your entire body is buzzing, urging you to indulge in the thoughts swirling in your head. You open your mouth to break the silence, grasping at any sense of logic you have left to end this dangerously tempting situation.

Kuroo’s last strand of self-control splintered the moment he caught you staring at him so intently. The same thoughts weaving through his head as yours, the fantasy he’s had for months now of holding you against him, his lips pressed to yours, is so tantalizingly close he can barely stand it.

So, he comes to decision. Before this opportunity eludes him, he has to act now. He watches as your mouth opens, your better judgement clearly still intact, and before you can get a word out, he leans down to kiss you. His hands finding their way to your waist, tugging you to him, he’s pleasantly delighted to find you sink into him. Your own hands reaching up to curl into his shirt, soft mouth moving against his own, he almost groans at how you’re reacting to him.

He’s intoxicating, the way his fingers are digging into the skin of your waist, how his tongue slips into your mouth, you can barely keep your feet underneath you. What’s even more exhilarating to you is that _he_ initiated this.

He wanted you too.

The thought makes you a bit dizzy.

When he feels your hands travel from his collar to slip your fingers through his hair, this time he can’t help it, a deep pleased sound escaping him, rumbling through your entire body and sending heat straight to your core. Jesus Christ this man his going to be the absolute death of you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands roam from your waist to cup your ass, using the leverage to press you even closer to him, letting you feel just what exactly you’re doing to him. All he can think is that he wants _more_ , he wants you underneath him, chest heaving, moaning his name and no one else’s. With that on his mind, he splays his fingers out underneath your thighs, intending on lifting your legs around him.

The action turns your brain back on, the gears working hard through the haze clouding your mind, realizing where exactly this is going. Your sense of reason finally coming through, screaming: _Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!_ Instinctively, you shove him away from you.

He blinks in surprise as he stumbles back into the bookshelf, thrown off by your sudden rejection.

Your heart crumbles seeing his hurt expression. It’s no use denying it anymore. You want him. So bad that you were _this_ close to throwing all caution to the wind just now. But you can’t, not under the circumstances. He is your _colleague_. Your _superior_. What the hell were you thinking?!

Steeling your resolve, you say quietly, “Kuroo…I—That…that shouldn’t have happened.”

You can’t even look at him, too afraid of what will happen if you do.

He knows you’re lying.

He stares at you for a moment, considering all his options. Truly, he’d like to just gather you up in his arms, assuring you everything will be fine, and kissing your worries away until you melt beneath him again. But he knows that’s crossing the line. Instead, he settles on making his feelings clear. He wants you to know where he stands. He doesn’t want you to think what just happened meant nothing to him. But he’s willing to give you space to put your thoughts together.

“I need you to look at me,” he says.

You bite your lip. “I can’t.” Now your throat feels tight with the effort of keeping tears at bay. Why is it like this? Why did you have to meet him in this way? He says your name like a command, so you ball your fists in determination and raise your watery eyes to meet his.

With such surety and resolve it just about makes you burst into tears, he tells you clearly, “I’m so head over heels for you it’s not even funny.”

He’s right, this _isn’t_ funny. It’s anything but. And he’s making it worse by being so goddamn _perfect_ you want to scream. The universe must really be a bitch for putting you through this, making you fall in love with someone who is _so_ off limits. You can feel your heart wilting within your chest as you plead, “I need to leave.”

He lets you go, despite every instinct telling him not to. He spends the night in the lab alone, barely getting anything done through his ever-present thoughts of you. He tries to remain hopeful, that somehow this will all work out. That on Monday you’ll come to work, and everything will be alright.

Monday morning, he finds out you’ve put in a request to join a separate project.

He doesn’t know what to do with the growing hole forming in his chest.

And neither do you.


	2. Chapter 2

You hate yourself for what you’ve done. But with the convention around the corner, your higher-ups are rightfully confused as to why you want out of Dr. Kuroo’s project so late in the game. You try to chalk it up to wanting to ‘broaden your horizons’, but even that doesn’t convince them fully. Instead, they tell you to continue working with Dr. Kuroo while also giving you some small task on Dr. Yu’s project that you’ll probably complete in two days.

So, Monday morning after that meeting crushing your hopes of just brushing what happened in the library Friday night under the rug, you trudge back to your desk trying your best to ignore the whispers following you as you go. Word spreads like wildfire around here. You’re not surprised, your request came out of the blue, particularly since up until now it seemed like you’ve been working fine with Dr. Kuroo.

Which…you have. Up until last week.

It isn’t that you don’t _like_ him anymore, or that you don’t return his feelings—obviously not considering your reaction to his move on you. It’s more that you think it won’t be fair to either of you to go on pretending like nothing happened, because god knows you don’t even know if you _can_. Which is why it would be best if you stayed away from him, no reason to torture yourself like that. Or him.

Though, it looks like you’re just going to have to grin and bear it. No matter that you spent the entire weekend trying to stop thinking about what happened—and miserably failing. Any spare moment you had, without your permission, your brain would drift to the sensation of his hands clasped to your waist; his lips on yours, and from there you couldn’t stop imagining what would have happened had you let him continue.

That’s usually about the time you shoved your face into the nearest pillow to scream into or slapped your cheeks to bring you back to reality.

You think you can do it, act normal around him, give no inclination that anything is different. As much as you’re going to hate it, mainly because it’s going to hurt him, nobody—and you mean _nobody_ can have any suspicions.

That is until he strides in the office door, looking more jaw-dropping than usual. You always had a hard time controlling yourself whenever he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up, but today he’s topping it off with the rare sight of his glasses and tousled hair looking notably unruly this morning. Judging from the glasses, hair, his bag practically bursting, and the numerous rolled up papers beneath his arm, it’s been a rough morning.

The dark circles under his eyes suggest it’s been a tough weekend as well.

You bite your lip, hoping it’s because of the conference and not you.

His eyes land on you almost immediately, expression giving away nothing. You are surprised that he makes his way over to you, drops his things on your desk in a huff, breathlessly explaining, “I have a meeting in like two minutes, I can’t make it back to my office in time, I’m sorry to ask you this but—,”

You go on autopilot mode, reassuring him, “I’ll handle it, just go!”

He gives you a grateful smile before jogging off to the conference room.

Truthfully, he’s glad he’s had a whirlwind of a morning, otherwise he doesn’t know how he would have approached you so normally. And he’s surprised at how receptive you were to him, he thought you’d be avoiding him, especially since you requested to switch off his project.

He frowns. He is not in the mood to think about that right now. It was bad enough being unable to focus this weekend, because if he lets himself, he’ll get consumed with thoughts of you. He’s thankfully able to think about something else during the meeting, distracted by data reports from other faculty and details about the conference. Upon the conclusion of the meeting, he’s surprised there’s no discussion about your request to transfer. As of now, all he knows is that the request has been made, there’s been no word on its verdict.

Before he can head out, he is by no means shocked when the head of the department asks him to follow him to his office. He does his best to remain as indifferent as possible as he follows him, making a point to ignore you as he passes your desk on the way to the back.

The door closes behind him, and Kuroo sets his expression straight, no need to give Dr. Takahashi any reason for suspicion.

“Are aware that your graduate student requested to be switched off your project, Dr. Kuroo?”

One of the reasons Kuroo respects his colleague so much is that he never dances around the subject, but right now he wishes he’d sound a little less accusatory with that statement.

No reason to lie here either, so Kuroo nods passively, replying with a noncommittal, “I did. Dr. Yu emailed me about it this weekend.”

He raises a brow. “Any idea why? There hasn’t seemed to be a problem all year, and with the conference coming up, it’s a bit unexpected.”

Kuroo takes a moment to consider what _you_ might have said when probably asked a very similar question when you made the request. He’s certain you didn’t come clean about the situation, otherwise he’d be dealing with a _much_ different person right now. “I’m sure they were looking for more to do,” Kuroo rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and judging by Takahashi’s expression he hit the nail on the head. “I can’t seem to give them enough, every time I turn around, they’re already finished and onto the task.”

Not entirely true, you do finish tasks quickly and diligently, but you’re pretty good about keeping yourself busy. He rarely has to explicitly tell you what to do next. He did when you first started, as expected, but by now you’ve gotten the flow of things and can work seamlessly with him like you’re reading his mind. Other professors are jealous and wish you were _their_ graduate student, so he’s heard.

“Ah, well. Unfortunately, I denied the request. We’re winding down to the conference anyways, there’s not much to do anywhere. I’ll revisit it once things pick up again and see where they’re at.” He waves Kuroo out, and he almost sighs a breath of relief once the door closes until he realizes what comes next.

Facing you.

God, he’s gone over this situation over and over in his head all weekend, but now that it’s here his stomach is twisting into knots at the thought of confronting you. He wants to bring it up, thinking it would be best to talk it out, see where the other person is at, but not here. Not somewhere with the risk of someone overhearing.

He at least gives you the curtesy of approaching your desk from the front instead of behind like he usually does, as he found it amusing watching you jerk in surprise in your chair—no, even that’s too dangerous. You watch him carefully, wondering just what exactly he’s going to open with.

“Are you doing anything right now? Do you want to go over this week’s plan in my office?” He asks, unaware that the nerves coiling in your chest unravel slightly at his mundane request. It’s familiar, the two of you usually hash out the week on Monday to ensure an efficient plan, and you’re glad he started with that and not something ominous like, _we need to talk_.

Though there is an underlying suggestion in the seemingly simple question.

Go over the plan, in his _office_. A key detail that anyone else wouldn’t blink twice at.

You, on the other hand, fear an ambush. But part of you wouldn’t mind talking it out so there isn’t this air charged with anxiety that you can already feel simmering between the two of you.

“No, I was waiting for you to finish your meeting so we could go over the week.”

He smiles softly at you, and the expression that sends your heart thundering against your chest. The trek back to his office lets your nerves ramp up, making you paranoid about all of the possible things that _aren’t_ the plan for the week he’s going to bring up once the door shuts. The closer you get, the more your mindset shifts from maybe being willing to discuss things to wanting to completely and utterly forget it, and go about your lives blissfully ignorant.

You’re glad he doesn’t take a seat behind his desk, which would have made you feel even more skittish that he’s planning on having a serious talk with you. Instead, he sinks into one of the two armchairs in the corner; a place the two of you have spent many hours in discussion over a cup of coffee in. You didn’t think it possible, but somehow that’s _worse_ that him sitting behind his desk. This is far more…intimate.

He just looks at you, reading you so easily you hate it, saying, “I’m not going to bring it up. Not here.”

“Why not?” The words tumble from your mouth without much thought. You loathe how pathetic it makes you sound. His eyes softening only make it worse.

Choosing his next words carefully, he eyes the door behind you and lowers his voice, “Do you want to?”

He notices the flicker of your jaw. You’re contemplating something, so he just waits, despite his emotions rearing to bubble to the surface.

“I—uh…no. I’d rather not.”

You aren’t expecting the finality of those words to make your heart feel heavy in your chest. Like you’re closing a door that you’ve been wondering if it would ever open since meeting him and…it doesn’t sit right. None of this does. But you must continue on the way it is, there isn’t another choice, as much as you hate it.

You’re shocked to hear what he says next.

“Do you ever?”

Up until now, you were finding it difficult to look at him. But with those words, your attention snaps to his, getting pinned by his golden gaze. Without much thought you say softly, “I don’t know.” You wish he would wipe that stupid fucking expression off his face. It simultaneously makes you want to grab his head between your hands to kiss and slap him across the face. You have to resist the urge to do either, unfortunately.

“That’s fine,” he says, so nonchalantly you grit your teeth. _He_ was the one to confess his feelings to _you_. It’s making you feel so childish how much you’re struggling with your emotions when he seems perfectly fine. Little do you know; he’s hiding his channeling his true feelings into gripping the armrests as hard as he can. At least you didn’t shut him out completely. “So,” he scratches his chin. “Your request to switch projects was declined.”

You visibly straighten. “Now _that’s_ something I don’t want to discuss.”

He smirks, unable to resist his prevocational tendencies. “What are you afraid of?”

He watches as your fists ball, unsure if his tactic is going to work out in his favor or not. “You said we wouldn’t talk about it here!” You hiss, lowering your voice to barely a whisper.

Leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees he proposes, “You’re right. How about tonight, The Brew at eight?”

“I am not going on a _date_ with you! That’s the complete opposite of what we should do!” You whisper as angrily as you can muster.

“Just a humble meeting between colleagues,” he says. “Nothing else.”

Your eyes narrow, and he hopes with all his might you’ll agree.

His heart soars as you say, “Fine. Just talking.”

“Just talking,” he nods, sincerely meaning it. You’re both adults here, and he’d like to settle this before it blows up in your faces.

He’s glad that you relax and slump into the chair beside him. “Can we talk about the week now please?” You hate how much you love the grin that lights up his face.

And as nervous as you are for tonight, you also feel a strange sense of calm about it. Relieved to get some things straight after a rather tumultuous weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of alcohol and being drunk

Kuroo ends up showing up at The Brew too early. Most likely a product of his nerves and the fact that after work he couldn’t get his mind off of whatever was going to happen tonight. He barely touched his dinner—a bad choice, retrospectively, as he sits at the bar sipping on his beer. Calling it ‘sipping’ is being far too generous, he keeps subconsciously ordering another one after he finished so he had something to _do_ besides stew for the 45 minutes before your agreed meeting time.

Kuroo is a regular here, whether it be for the numerous happy hours with colleagues, or just to unwind after a long day, but the bartender can tell something is up. “Date tonight?” He asks casually, looking to help Kuroo loosen up.

Kuroo laughs, “God, I wish.”

When do you do show up— _holy fuck_ , does he wish he’d drunk all the kegs behind the counter. That’s the only way he’d be able to deal with this situation. You’ve changed since work, and damn you to hell, why did you have to wear something that makes you even _more_ jaw-dropping than usual. He didn’t even think that was possible. Making it worse, you don’t seem to particularly notice the intoxicating effect you have on him.

And when your eyes find him seated at the bar, he reflexively orders another beer without breaking eye contact with you. He’s really going to need it. If you notice that he’s quaking in his shoes, you don’t give any indication, which he supposes is a mercy. You stride across the room, heading straight for him and order a drink before greeting him.

He gives you a slow smile that makes your spine straighten, replying, “You look nice.”

Your eyes narrow. “Don’t start with that.”

He shrugs, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “Just a compliment, I know we’re all _business_ tonight.” That sinful smile still on his face keeping you on high alert to keep your pants _on_ tonight.

Once the bartender slides your drink across the bar to you, Kuroo motions to an empty booth on the wall near the back for you two to occupy. You try not to look too relieved that he’s at least being courteous to your privacy. This place is still close to the University, and while you may be able to pass this off as a ‘semi-professional’ meeting, you’d rather not risk it.

Upon sitting down, an awkward silence stretches across the two of you until you say rather bluntly, “Well you invited me here.”

He laughs and throws back at you, “Well, you’re the one who said we should talk. So, I thought you’d start.”

Fucking _hell_ , you can’t help the pace at which your heart is thundering against your chest. Despite having all day to think about how this was going to go down tonight or what you even wanted to _say_ , you stupidly actively tried to _not_ think about it as it made you palms clammy and like your heart might burst. So, now that you’re actually here, you’re at a loss for words. And _really_ hating how much you would rather focus on Kuroo in this dim lighting and secluded atmosphere, making it rather difficult to breathe.

“I want to make it clear that can’t happen again,” you finally blurt, too many thoughts tumbling through your head at once to pick out a better way to word that.

He just lifts his brows, “You did.”

You suck in a breath, feeling a weight pressing on your chest that behind his teasing demeanor, he actually appears… _hurt_.

God, do you hate yourself. Hate all of this.

Sighing through your nose, you say a bit quieter, “And…not that it matters but…it wouldn’t be fair to lie and say I don’t wish things were different.”

“It matters,” he murmurs softly.

He keeps his face neutral, but hearing you say that makes all this simultaneously better and worse. Fuck—what he’d give to be here with you, drinking and making you laugh. Not oppressed by this heavy weight that you both find yourselves suffocating. God this fucking sucks. So much so that he lifts a hand and motions for another beer at the bartender. Fuck it to hell, he’s getting drunk at his apartment tonight. Who cares if it’s a Monday?

You watch him carefully. He was here before you got here, so you don’t know how many drinks he’s had. And while you been to plenty department happy hours with him, you’ve never seen him drunk, so you wouldn’t know how many beers it takes.

“I’m sorry Kuroo.” The words feel meaningless.

He’s quiet before replying, “I know.

“I hate to say it, but I think we should discuss a plan for the next couple weeks before the convention.”

“I know,” he repeats. A moment passes before he adds, “And I fucking hate that you’re right.”

The bartender slides Kuroo’s drink to the end of the bar and you take the liberty of getting up to grab it for him with the intention of ordering a non-alcoholic drink for yourself. Kuroo doesn’t say anything as you leave, just watching you quietly, forcing himself to keep his mouth _shut_ about how beautiful you look. There were days in the office he found himself staring at you, entranced by the way you move; how your eyes rove your computer screen and papers strewn across you desk, how your pencil fits in your mouth, how your eyes light up when you figure something out—he’s in _so_ deep.

Even now, with you making suggestions on how you’ll both get by the next few weeks without raising suspicions, he finds himself lost in watching you. The way your hands move when you speak, how your knee is lightly brushing against his under the table, and how you bring the straw of your drink into your mouth to take a sip. He’s just barely comprehending what you’re saying to him.

He can feel his brain getting fuzzier and fuzzier by the second, all those beers finally catching up to him. _Fuck—how many did he actually have?_ He definitely was _not_ planning on getting tipsy tonight, but previous experience makes it obviously clear how his better judgement is rendered useless when you’re around.

You’ve been watching him, noting that his is on you, but not what you’re saying. It’s like he’s looking at you in a daze, and if you aren’t mistaken, he looks a bit flushed. It’s an effort to not groan—he’s drunk. Or at least tipsy. And when you’re finally finished laying down your ground rules you ask him exasperated, “Are you going to need help getting home?”

He’s not even in the right might to be embarrassed. All he can think about is how fucking cute you are, so serious about this, he almost laughs out loud. You love your job so much; he loves that about you and also _really_ fucking hates it.

“Kuroo?” You’re a little worried that he’s been staring at you quietly for a couple minutes after you asked if he needs help getting home. And you’re going to assume that’s a _yes_.

Abruptly, he says, “I do…except where do I live?”

You bury your face in your hands. “Jesus fucking christ Kuroo. Please tell me you understood what I was saying earlier.”

He straightens. “Crystal fucking clear,” he drawls, a sly smile stretching across his mouth. “No all nights, we shouldn’t talk about not work, we hide our secret forbidden love from the world.”

“Oh lord,” you mutter, trying hard not to find this amusing. You wonder what other ridiculous things are going to come out of his mouth. Setting your elbows on the table you put out a hand. “Give me your wallet, please.”

His eyes widen, spluttering, “I—I didn’t think you were that kind of person!”

You give him a look. “I want your wallet so I can look at your ID and find out where you live, you 6’2” dumbass.” You keep your hand outstretched. “Give.”

He fumbles around in his pocket before extracting a black wallet and handing it over to you. As you open it, he shouts nervously, “Don’t look in the left pocket!” You have to stifle the laugh that is threatening to leave your mouth that you don’t have to _look_ to know what the round thing you’re feeling that is most likely in a square package is.

Instead, you pull out his ID and ask, “Did you drive here?”

“You looking to take me home tonight?” He drawls, wiggling his eyebrows for what you’re sure he thinks is a ‘seductive’ effect.

You smirk. “That’s exactly what I’m aiming to do, now—keys.” He digs around in his pockets some more before locating his keys which you snatch from him as he dangles them from a finger in front of you. Scooting out of the booth, you point at his seat. “Stay.” He gives you a dramatic salute, going stick straight in his seat, clearly trying not to giggle to himself.

Reaching the bar, you ask the bartender, “Hey, how many has he had tonight?”

The man peers around your shoulder at Kuroo and frowns. “Not enough to get him drunk.”

You groan. Maybe he had some before showing up. You hand a card over to close the bill, wondering how _this_ is how the night turned out.

As per your instruction, Kuroo hasn’t moved since you left and lets out a theatrical breath when you tell him, “Alright, let’s go.” He struggles to get his long legs out of the booth and under him, enough that for a moment you think he’s going to topple over on you, so you offer him your shoulder for support.

His warmth and sturdiness overwhelms your thoughts as you help him towards the door. Once you’re outside, you begin pressing the unlock button on his keys looking for the car flashing its headlights. Locating it, you both hobble over to it—his height and build completely dwarfing you. He’s able to get himself into the passenger seat, even though his legs squish up against the dashboard. 

“How do you fit in this thing?” You scoff, adjusting the seat all the way back, his legs still barely fitting.

He laughs. “I don’t!”

“I can see that,” you chuckle, shutting the door for him. Heading over to the driver’s side, you slip into the seat and unsurprisingly have to move the seat _up_ to even reach the pedals.

“Why are you sitting so close?” He observes.

“Because I have to _reach_ the pedals with my normal size legs to drive.”

“I like your normal size legs.” You slide a look over to him and find him looking out the front window absentmindedly, like he didn’t just confess that he likes your legs. “What about mine? Do you like my giant ones? They’re very handy, y’know, getting places.”

You type his address into your GPS and find that he doesn’t live very far. Pulling away from the curb, you bite your lip as he waits for an answer. You don’t feel like admitting to him that _yes_ —days he wears those sleek black slacks that are fitted _just right_ , you nearly hyperventilate. So instead you go for a non-committal, “Sure.”

He grins and mocks, “ _Sure_.” Then pins you with a stare. “I’ve caught you staring at this sweet ass so don’t go thinking I bought that flimsy ‘sure’.” He laughs again and you nearly drive the car into a streetlamp at his words.

You can’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. “Yeah well, don’t think I haven’t caught you staring too, so I guess we’re both screwed.” You retort, attempting to focus on the road and not his golden eyes boring into you from the passenger seat.

“Screwed,” he snorts. “That’s what I’d like to—,”

“Don’t. I swear to god Kuroo—do _not_.”

You know he’s just lost his inhibitions. Even if what he’s saying is truly on his mind and what he wants. And while this whole situation is laughable, you are scared of the rumors that could come out of it. You have no idea who saw you at the bar, who saw you leave with Kuroo—you could very well be jeopardizing everything right now without even knowing it.

Retrospectively, you could have just called him a cab.

He pouts. Then hits the nail right on the head. “You’re not fooling anybody. I mean, you don’t have to do this, taking me _home_ where who knows _what_ will—oh shit!”

You slam on the brakes once you pull into a parking spot in his buildings lot, causing him to lurch forward and slam back into his seat, his eyes wide with shock. Unbuckling yourself, you glare at him, saying firmly, “ _Nothing_ is going to happen. I’m taking you home because I’m a good person and you’re _drunk_ and will probably pass out the second you get into bed. So, unbuckle yourself and let’s _go_.”

You shove your door open and stalk over to the passenger side where he’s unfolding himself out of the car. Taking his elbow, you help him into the building, and he manages to at least remember the floor and unit he lives in. Jabbing the button in the elevator, you can feel that he’s looking at you.

“Why are so you angry?”

You sigh, forcing yourself to take a breath. “I’m—I’m not. I’m just frustrated.”

He nods slow and solemnly, a little too slow for you to believe he’s regained his senses. “You wish you were coming to my apartment for a different reason, I know I do.” You can’t bear to look at him. This is all so wrong in so many ways. And you can’t find any words to respond to him either. He takes your silence as an agreement to his statement, and when the elevator dings, he plants his feet and declares, “I have an idea!” You just hum in acknowledgement. “Let’s just stay in here and pretend like the outside world doesn’t exist because the outside world is mean, and I don’t like it anymore.”

That gets a full laugh out of you, and he’s grateful that he’s finally made you laugh, seemingly brightening up his entire world with your beaming smile. Taking his arm yet again, you attempt to pull him from the elevator saying through a chuckle, “I don’t think you’ve thought that plan through Kuroo.”

“What do you mean? It’s foolproof.”

Your attempts to pull him from the elevator are useless, he far bigger and stronger than you, and the only way you’re going to get him to move is to _convince_ him. No amount of force you can produce will budge him. You decide to humor him. “What will it take for you to abandon this plan?”

“Make me a hot pocket.” A grin lifts your lips at his request. That’s all? Then quickly he tacks on, “And a hug!”

It’s innocent enough so you agree, finally getting him to exit the elevator and head down the hallway. You have to try several keys on his keychain before you find the right one and usher him into his apartment. “Sit,” you instruct, pushing him towards the couch while you go located his hot pocket. He flops himself down onto the sofa, stretching his arms out on the back of it and leaning his head back to close his eyes.

After heating up the hot pocket, you fill a glass of water and set both on the coffee table in front of him.

You’ve never seen a man eat a hot pocket so fast in your entire life. You force him to drink the entire glass of water and fill it up 2 more times before he groans that he’s going to burst if he drinks anymore. So, you make him drink one more for good measure. He complains throughout the ordeal, but you’re sure he’ll be grateful tomorrow morning when he doesn’t wake up with a hangover.

He stands abruptly and you immediately throw your hands out to catch him in case he topples over, but he’s steady and pinning you with an intense stare. “Time to follow up on the second part of the deal,” he declares, opening his arms wide, an alarmingly serious expression on his face. “It better be a good one!”

You smile softly to yourself, getting to your feet from your seat on the coffee table. Stepping closer to him, you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes. He hunches ever so slightly, folding you in his embrace, and pulling you flush against his body. His head lowers to rest on your shoulder, his dark mess of hair tickling your neck and the scent of his cologne and body wash overwhelming your senses. This feels so _right_ and the world is cruel for making you endure it.

“New plan,” he murmurs against your neck, sending goosebumps prickling over your arms. “We stay like this.”

You huff out a laugh, greedily allowing yourself to bury your face into his shoulder. “Can’t.” He sags against you, clearly disappointed by that answer. Even more disappointed when you release his neck and step out of his arms, muttering, “I think I should leave now, and you should go to sleep.”

Distantly he answers, “Yeah.” Then turns to head down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“Kuroo?”

“Hm?”

He looks over his shoulder to find you standing in his living room, looking like you’re on the brink of throwing all caution to the wind and following him.

“Goodnight.”

He smiles as best he can. “Goodnight.”

And once the door to his bedroom is shut, you quietly slip out the front door and sag against it when it closes.

That didn’t help things at _all_.


	4. Chapter 4

In the following weeks, you and Kuroo barely speak beyond what is required for work. There are no more all nighters spent huddled together in the lab, spending hours with just each other—it pains you how much you miss it. How much you hate that when you see each other in the office you barely give each other anything past a courteous nod. The ghost of your relationship hangs in the air whenever you’re with him, urging you to just get over yourself. There’s clearly nothing else you both would rather do than just be together.

And it doesn’t help that you’ve begun to sit in on his lectures too, finding yourself with ample amounts of free time now that most of the preparation for the convention is finished. You try and chalk it up to the fact that you want to see how someone not much older than yourself has made himself an established member of this profession. You can’t help the jealousy that washes over you at the blatant stares of his female students—that _they_ get to openly ogle him and daydream while you stuff all that somewhere deep inside yourself.

He makes no comments about your sudden appearance at his lectures.

He does notice you, however. And goddamn you are distracting. Not that _you_ think you are, no—if you thought that he doesn’t think you’d show up. So, he does his best to ignore you, and by the time he’s finished speaking to students after class, you’ve already packed up and left.

These weeks have been rather boring. He didn’t realize how much you livened up his day until you were missing from it. Personally, he thinks it’s far more suspicious that the two of you have suddenly ceased all interactions completely rather than going about the way you have been before he blew everything to shit in the library that night. But if this is what you’re comfortable with, he can respect that.

He tries not to think about what happened at The Brew. How utterly embarrassing the entire night was.

But he’s holding on desperately to something you said.

 _You wish things were different._

He probably shouldn’t dwell on those words, but he can’t help himself.

And it’s pathetic how his heart jumps into his throat when a week or two from the convention you stride into his office without warning and shut the door behind you. It’s hard for him not to hope that maybe you’ve finally hit the tipping point, finding the past few weeks just as unbearable as he has.

Instead, you slump into one of his armchairs letting out a defeated sigh. He finds himself frozen in his seat, unsure what to do, and afraid to scare you off from whatever you’ve come in here for. After a moment, you groan loudly and finally turn to face him. “I need help with the presentation.”

He blinks, realizing you’re just here for advice. Though, he supposes it’s better than the silence that has stretched between you since The Brew.

“What about it?”

You frown. “I can give it perfectly when I practice, but every time I think about getting up in front of all those people, I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Ah. He can remember how nerve wracking his first presentation was too, so he understands how you’re feeling. “Do you want to practice in front of me?” He offers. “I always felt better after actually giving it to someone.”

He isn’t expecting your frown to deepen. “I don’t think that’ll help.”

He cocks his head. “Why?”

Yet another sigh escapes you. Then you look up at the ceiling, biting your lip—something he hates to admit he watches _very_ intently. “Because…well—it’s just _you_.”

Now he laughs. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“We’ve been working on this together all year, so forgive me if you don’t make me particularly nervous.” You shrug. He lifts a brow at that statement, that he doesn’t make you nervous—and you immediately realize your mistake. Giving him a pointed look, you say, “Keep whatever you were about to say to _yourself_.”

There’s no ignoring the mischievous glint in his eye as he replies smoothly, “I don’t think it’d be a problem for me to change that.” To your relief, he remains seated, otherwise he’d see how right he actually is.

He’s surprised that you’re letting him go on this long, when you could easily just leave his office and end this conversation. Instead, you seem to rise to his challenge, leaning toward him on the arm of the chair, meeting his gaze and without even so much as blinking, retort, “Don’t try and act like this isn’t a two-way street. I know full well you’d be a tomato if I were to come over there and show you just how I’d make _you_ nervous.”

The words tumble out of you without you fully realizing where you’re taking this conversation—and that he’s letting you do it. The smirk on his face telling you just how much he’s enjoying this, and you hate to admit how easy it was to fall back into this. After weeks of avoiding him, one harmless conversation is all it took to be right where you started.

Leaning back in his chair, he folds him arms, his eyes daring you to show him just what you mean. “Oh, I’m not disagreeing with you at all. But, back to the reason you’re here; I have plenty of students who are looking into graduate school and may be interested in listening to what we’ve been working on and get some more information on what being a graduate student is like. I could set something up if you think that might help.”

He nearly tips out of his chair at your expression. “Really?!” God, his heart is going to explode at your eyes wide with excitement. “That’d be perfect! And I’d love to talk about being a graduate student!”

Because in all honesty, it’s been wonderful—minus falling head over heels for your assigned faculty member. After your outburst, he barely has the brain cells left to give you a smile and promise that he’ll look into it. Rising from your chair, you extend your thanks to him and bolt from his office, feeling like if you stay any longer you’ll find it way too easy to stay and chat with him.

You _miss_ him.

And you didn’t really realize how much until he wasn’t in your life anymore.

* * *

Kuroo isn’t shocked that half his class is interested in coming and listening to you speak. Though he thinks that some of them just want another chance to ogle him freely before the semester is over. But today his attention is focused on you, leaning over your shoulder at the front of the room and helping you connect your laptop to the projector. And you’re too wrapped up in what you’re doing to make any comment about it.

Mostly you’re too focused on keeping your nerves in check so you can garner the courage to start your presentation. Once you start talking you know you’ll calm down but right now you need to distract yourself. And _sue_ you for letting yourself find comfort in Kuroo’s presence. His solid frame behind you and deep voice is doing wonders for your nerves, surprisingly. In any other situation _he’d_ be the one making you nervous.

“You ready?” He asks quietly, his breath brushing against your ear.

It doesn’t slip past him that you barely flinch. He honestly thought you’d run for the hills at his proximity. Instead, you slide your attention to him from the corner of your eye and give him a small smile. He’s so in awe of your behavior that he doesn’t catch what you say.

“Kuroo?” You whisper, turning your back to the class in an attempt to hide just how comfortable you are with each other.

He blinks and gathers his senses. “Sorry, what did you say? Are you ready?”

Now your brows lift. “I said that I am.”

“Great!” Now it’s _him_ retreating from you, swiveling around you towards the class and clapping his hands for the class’s attention. He introduces you as his graduate student and says, “A lot of you are looking into graduate work and I thought it might be helpful for you to see what they do. So, without further ado, the floor is yours.” He steps away and moves to sit at the end of one of the first rows of seats.

It’s hard to not clam up on the spot. Stiffly, you introduce yourself again and try not to let your gaze just stay on Kuroo—no matter how much easier it is to ignore everyone else in the room.

“This year I’ve been working with Dr. Kuroo and assisting him in his research. We are going to a conference in a couple of weeks and will be presenting on our work. It was my job to compile our findings and put together this presentation…”

Once you get into the actual presentation, your words start to flow, and you feel much more at ease talking about the things you’ve spent the last several months working on. As expected, many of the students look like everything you are saying is going completely over their heads—which is understandable. The other half look more interested in staring at Kuroo the entire time.

Though Kuroo’s attention is on you the entire time. He loves the way you talk about your work, clearly excited and very into what you do. It makes him proud to have you as a colleague, and despite any feelings he has for you, he really does respect you as a fellow professional. The way you talk about your work is the way he imagines _he_ does, and on more than one occasion he’s found himself deep in discussion with you on different topics within the field. It isn’t hard to figure out _why_ he fell head over heels for you.

When you’re done speaking, some students have questions about being a graduate student. Simple things like how to apply, how did you get paired, and some sheepishly asking how the _hell_ you learned whatever the fuck you just talked about. It’s easy answering their questions, but you know come conference time where people will actually understand the research, they might come at you with some more in-depth questions.

Kuroo does throw you a couple questions to try and mimic that, but since he knows everything about the project too, they aren’t too difficult in your opinion. The whole ordeal took less than an hour, but you do feel _a lot_ better afterwards. The conference doesn’t seem so gut-wrenchingly terrifying now.

As you’re packing up your things, you notice Kuroo get cornered by several of his students. And damn you to hell—you strain to eavesdrop on their conversation. Mostly it consists of them gushing over him, expressing how fascinating they think the project is, and that they’re really interested in graduate work now.

Kuroo wasn’t expecting this at all. Sure, he knows they stare and blush around him, but all semester these students have kept their respectable distance. He surmises now that they’re basically “graduated” in their eyes they feel those walls no longer exist. He isn’t quite sure what to do in this situation, so he resorts to constantly changing the subject back to you. Claiming (truthfully) that he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with his project without you.

“Maybe one of us will get paired with you next year if we apply here!” One of them suggests cheerfully.

Before he can process what he’s about to say, he tells them that he’ll probably be working with you for the next year too.

At the front of the room, upon hearing those words, you fumble putting your laptop into your bag and it clatters to the ground startling everyone. If you had the ability to disappear, you would. With clammy hands, you pick it up and shove it haphazardly into your bag as Kuroo attempts to explain himself.

“It’s just uncommon for graduate students to get switched mid-way through their studies,” he says, smiling half-heartedly.

_That is unless they request to be off your project._

His students resume their cheery disposition and continue talking to him while he watches you head for the door. Just as you’re about to leave, you pause before abruptly turning and striding across the room towards him. And he can’t help but be _very_ intrigued at what you’re about to say, judging from your expression you must be aiming to save him from his current predicament.

He wonders why you even needed to practice your presentation in the first place as you must have balls of steel to interrupt the conversation and say, “Excuse me, I need to speak to Dr. Kuroo about the conference before we leave for the day.” What impresses him further is how _believable_ you sound.

At least he’s quick to catch on.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says apologetically, moving towards you and the exit. “I hope you all have a wonderful summer and good luck in your future! Email me if you need a letter of recommendation!” And with that, he uses those long legs of his to get him _out_ of there, with you hot on his heels.

On your way out, you smirk at him, carefully making sure to hide your face from the onlookers behind you and pretending to move your hands like you’re deep in conversation with him. All while he watches you incredulously before giving you a look as you tease, “I didn’t know you were such an instigator of scandals, Kuroo.”

“Not plural,” he corrects, then lowers his voice. “Just you.”

Your heart involuntary twists at those words.

Instead of going any further into that territory, you say, “So, we’ll be working together for the next year too?”

His attention snaps to you, but you’re staring straight ahead towards the office doors, apparently unbothered by his earlier claim. He rubs the back of his neck, tongue feeling dry in his mouth, unsure how he should explain that statement.

But before he has the opportunity to do so, as you pull open the office doors you say plainly, “I can’t imagine working with anyone else anyways, and I don’t think I’d want to.”

He’s stunned.

“Besides,” you shrug, holding the door open for him. “I don’t think anyone else would be able to keep up with me either.”

Now a laugh escapes him. “That’s true. _I_ barely can.”

You give him a smile that warms him to the very depths of his soul as you stop at your desk to get the rest of your things. He continues on to his office, and when he’s finished packing up, he’s surprised to find you waiting for him at the door.

The two of you walk out together in comfortable silence, and once you reach the point where you go your separate ways, he hears you take an audible breath before quietly saying, “Thank you for helping me out and setting that up for me.”

He just looks at you, his soft golden gaze tying your throat into knots. “You’re welcome.”

“See you tomorrow.”

You step away from him to head down the street towards the station when you hear him call from behind you, “At least let me give you a ride home!”

Not even bothering to look behind you, you give him a slight wave and continue walking. “ _Bye!_ ”

He’s subconsciously grinning when he slides into the driver’s seat of his car.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s way too fucking early in the morning to be squished against other people on the train on your way to the airport. You don’t usually ride this early, but your flight to the convention is at the crack of dawn and you don’t really have a choice. You rarely drink coffee, but this morning called for it. Though in the packed train car, you’re clutching your cup tightly, too afraid to lift it to your lips in case someone bumps into you and makes you spill it everywhere.

Wouldn’t that just be a lovely way to begin your trip.

You and the other faculty members who are attending the convention agreed to meet at the entrance to security so you can head to the gate together. What you aren’t expecting, however, is upon stepping into the airport finding Kuroo wearing those goddamn fucking slacks that makes your brain short circuit.

Honestly, you aren’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse he’s facing away from you. On one hand, he can’t see your flustered expression, but on the other—you’re getting a _full_ view of his ass in those pants. It shocks you enough that you choke a little bit on your coffee, alerting him to your presence and making him turn around to face you.

And yup—him facing away from you was better. Because the way he’s eyeing you up right now makes your almost turn right back around and get the fuck out of there.

“Rough morning?” He asks, nodding to your coffee as you smack your chest with your fist trying not to choke.

“Uh, yeah,” you say through a cough. “You could say that.”

He makes a motion with his head towards the security line where you can see the rest of the faculty huddled around waiting. “Everyone’s all here, you ready?” You nod and start heading in the direction he indicated but then gives your coffee a pointed look.

“Oh, right.”

Then you very impressively chug the remainder of your cup and toss it in the garbage can as the two of you join the small group of faculty. You’ll never admit it, but you purposefully stand behind Kuroo with the sole intention of staring at him unashamed while you wait in line.

Chatting with Dr. Yu, Kuroo makes a point to ignore you, or at least do his best to be as unsuspicious as possible. However, sneaking a quick glance back at you—he can’t say you’re doing the same. He can’t explain how his skin prickles with the way you’re watching him. Your eyes are seemingly focused ahead of you, but he has the inkling your gaze is less than holy.

He knows these pants are a bit tight, but with your predatory gaze on him they feel _uncomfortably_ so, particularly between his legs. He doesn’t stop you, despite that anyone with a brain can see you’re gawking at his ass, solely because he is thoroughly enjoying it. And everyone else seems to be too occupied in their own conversations to notice.

When you reach the front of the security line, you snap out of it, realizing you’ve just spent the last ten minutes trying to put the pieces of your brain back together in order to act normally again. It dawns on you that this convention is going to be the death of you. If Kuroo wearing a three piece suit every day isn’t enough, hearing him talk biotech jargon that is as good as any poetry to you will probably send you over the edge. You’re walking a dangerous line here.

Even more dangerous when your group gets through security and Kuroo falls back to walk beside you. He takes a quick survey of your surroundings, making sure nobody is paying attention before leaning down to murmur in your ear, “You could at least _try_ to be less obvious.”

You have to stifle the choked noise that comes out of you in surprise. _He noticed?_

“Well, maybe you should wear pants that fucking fit you,” you hiss through your teeth.

That only makes him grin, eyes flicking upwards to make sure this little interaction remains unnoticed. “I don’t think I will,” he drawls. “You like them too much.”

Your fists clench, body heating with embarrassment and brain scrambling for a witty response to make him flush. Unfortunately, you come up empty.

Thankfully, nobody bats an eye at the two of you, the group sitting near your gate to wait for boarding and to no surprise—Kuroo takes the seat beside you. He folds his arms and crosses his ankle over his knee, looking for all the world like the unbearably hot professor that he is. Those damn fucking slacks and his button-up rolled to his elbows is making every girl that passes ogle him.

He seems unconcerned, far more interested in seeing how much more he can get away with before you insist he stop in fear of your co-workers seated nearby noticing. Nonchalantly he asks, “What seat are you?” You rummage around in your bag before extracting your ticket and handing it over to him. After a moment he mutters, “Hm.”

That makes you lift your brows and glance at him from the corner of your eye. “What?”

He rubs the back of his neck, an action you subconsciously watch _very_ closely. Watching how his fingers tangle in his dark hair, your traitorous brain deciding in this moment to notice how perfectly tousled his hair is this morning. Thoughts like that have been running more and more rampant through your head recently, and nothing you do to try and stop them seems to work.

“The rest of the faculty are at the front of the plane.”

You still don’t understand why he’s acting so strange. “So?”

“We are…” he clears his throat awkwardly, “Next to each other.”

You look around, wondering why this is such a big deal. If he’s so worried about being seated next to each other on the plane, then what the hell is he doing next to you right now? “Please spare me of this misery and explain to me why your panties are in such a bunch already.”

He snickers quietly at that before giving you your ticket back. Then he points to your seat assignment and says, “Take a look.”

Rolling your eyes, you look down at it, heart stilling in your chest upon seeing the row you’re assigned to. Nearly at the very back of the plane. You try and convince yourself it’s not a problem, but in the back of your mind you know it’s going to be a rough flight. Being so close to him for several hours, away from the prying eyes of the other faculty, you see yourself slipping.

“Wonderful,” you grit out, stuffing the ticket back into your bag.

Leaning back, he lets you stew. Doing a bit of reflection himself. This convention is going to wear his resolve thin—he can already feel it beginning to fray. He tried prepping himself for this, reminding himself over and over that whatever this is going on between the two of you is off limits. But the second you entered the airport in an adorable rush, your coffee cup clutched in your hand and almost laughable scowl turning your features, he cracked. All his preparation—worthless.

And now he’s going to have to sit next to you for the entire flight? He can’t decide if fate is being cruel or merciful to him. You seem to have decided on the former. With the way you’re slouching in your seat, arms crossed, and eyebrows furrowed, he can’t tell what you’re thinking.

Part of him is glad that this is hard for you too. Comforted that he isn’t alone. And that this is just as much torture for you as it is for him.

The rest of your group looks confused when the two of you don’t rise when they call the first group to board. Kuroo just shrugs, casually explaining you got split up from them for some reason. They don’t seem concerned and tell you that they’ll meet you at the gate after the flight before heading off to board.

You and Kuroo sit in silence waiting for the last group to be called. You say nothing waiting in line to board and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep him from nervously running them through his hair. What are you thinking about? Should he say something?

He doesn’t know it, but you’re purposefully keeping to yourself. Knowing all to well that if you start talking to him, it’s only a matter of time before the tension creeps up on you and you’re gasping for relief from the torture of everything that could be. And if you’re to spend an entire flight with him, you’d like to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Either Kuroo has the same sense you do, or he just doesn’t know what to say as the two of you enter the plane without a word. Passing the rest of your group, you give them all shrug while Kuroo feigns a tear behind you making them all smile. When you reach your seats, he hefts his suitcase into the overhead compartment and before you can react, he’s taken yours too.

You decide to ignore it but instead of shimmying into your row, you turn to look at him. “Window or middle?”

He can’t help finding it endearing that you’re trying to be considerate He smiles softly, but motions you forward to sit first. “I’m going to be squished either way with these legs.” If he isn’t mistaken, a small smile lifts the corner of your lips, but your back turns to him fast enough that he barely catches a glimpse. And when you turn to sit, the smile is gone.

Grimacing, he finagles his legs into the small space of the row, much like he did in his own car, grumbling that he’s never liked planes. Once he’s settled, he gives you a lopsided grin, huffing, “These things weren’t built will tall people in mind, were they?”

The amused look you give him is enough to make his heart soar. “Not particularly, no.”

“So,” he says, taking his seat belt from you gratefully. “How are you feeling? Excited? Nervous?”

He tries hard not to dwell in the shine of your eyes as you sit straighter in your seat replying, “I think more excited then nervous now. Looking forward to showcasing our work and listening to some other presentations. Trying to not get caught up in my head about it right now, just focusing on the excitement.”

He’s surprised by your honesty. So, he decides to return it. “You’re going to do great. We’ll wow everybody and everybody will wish you were _their_ grad student.” He sees the way your expression shifts and backpedals immediately. “In the most professional way possible!”

“Right.” You turn your gaze out the window, watching as the plane slowly taxis towards the runway. 

Lowering his voice, he whispers, “I hope you don’t think any of this influences how great of a colleague I think you are.” You press your lips into a firm line, throwing him a warning look. He heeds no warning, pressing on without much of a care for who hears him. Anyone who matters is sitting 20 rows ahead of you out of earshot. “If anything, the fact you’re so brilliant is one of the reasons I like you in the first place.”

You stiffen, unsure how to respond to that. Despite the obvious warmth blooming through your chest at his words. There is a part of you that worried his feelings for you influenced how he sees you as a fellow professional, but it seems to be quite the opposite.

“Well, I’m only fishing for a good letter of recommendation.”

You’re glad he catches on to your joke, responding with a chuckle and thankfully leaning away from you. Anytime he’s in your personal space, your mind fogs up and the line you drew gets blurry enough that when the fog clears you realize you’ve stepped across it. Sometimes you can’t even see the line anymore.

Once the plane is in the air, he busies himself with something on his laptop. You ask him if he needs any help, but he’s just working on the solo talk he’s giving in the middle of the week and he doesn’t need any assistance. So, you lean back, gazing out the window and watch the clouds drift by. At some point, the rolling white clouds become hypnotic along with the rock of the plane and you find yourself drifting off. That coffee really didn’t do anything.

Meanwhile, Kuroo isn’t paying much attention to you, too focused on tweaking aspects of his talk and going over it in his head. Not until he feels a weight on his shoulder and realizes you’ve fallen asleep. Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes shut peacefully and chest rising and falling with each breath you take. He’s stunned, frozen in his seat, stuck between waking you up like he knows he should or savoring this moment.

He chooses the latter.

Pushing his laptop away, he slumps a little in his seat, getting more comfortable and lowering his shoulder for you. You shift slightly, mumbling quietly before settling again, the weight of your head even heavier on his shoulder now. He lets his head rest on yours, remaining vigilant in case one of the other faculty come up the aisle.

He lets himself enjoy this, as much as he knows he shouldn’t. Setting his hand atop yours, he draws mindless circles, this quiet and intimate moment filling him with a joy he can’t explain. He watches as your hand twitches, palm splayed upward just _asking_ for him to take it. A thrill running through him as he gives in to his desires and slips his hand into yours, feeling your fingers curling subconsciously around his.

The universe is cruel for dangling this so close in front of him. The knowledge of being so close to what he wants yet so unbelievably far at the same time is some kind of sick joke.

But for now, he’ll take this.

You rouse slightly when the pilot makes the announcement that you’re making your decent, becoming acutely aware that you are leaning on someone and there’s a comforting pressure around your hand. Slowly, you realize what’s going on. You fell asleep. _On Kuroo._ And he’s _holding your hand_. A small voice in your head screams at you to continue pretending to be asleep, to enjoy this for as long as you can. To sink into his warm and solid frame, let his scent engulf you and pretend like everything isn’t so complicated.

You attempt to ignore that voice, shifting to alert Kuroo that you’re waking up, wondering if he’ll snatch his hand away and pretend like nothing happened. Though, he does quite the opposite. Instead, his grip tightens, and he murmurs softly enough that goosebumps pebble across your skin at his breath in your hair, “Just a bit longer. What’s the harm?”

“This does neither of us any good,” you mutter, though noticeably make no indication of moving.

You feel him grin against the top of your head. “I beg to differ. This is doing wonders for me.”

You hate how that makes you smile so easily. But you also love it. Forever caught in an endless loop of contradicting emotions, you struggle to make an argument otherwise.

“And besides, _you’re_ the one who fell asleep on me. So, technically this is your fault.”

“That coffee was useless,” you groan.

He shrugs, apologizing quickly when you protest at how your head bobs up and down with the movement. Then adds, “I’m not complaining.”

Looking down at your hands intertwining, you feel the icy grip of fear on your heart tighten. The voices of doubt creeping up on you, scolding you for letting this go on for so long and telling you to stop what you’re doing immediately. Yet you remain, unable to bring yourself to move.

Though this stolen moment gets cut short when Kuroo stiffens, his hand pulling out of yours and you’re instantly struck by how empty your grasp feels now. You read his response and jerk your body away from his to look aimlessly out the window, while he returns his attention to his laptop. You try not to think about how much you miss his warmth, the solid press of his body against yours lulling you into a false sense of security.

A few moments later, Dr. Yu strolls down the aisle and stops to chat for a couple minutes before moving on. Neither you nor Kuroo move until you see Dr. Yu return to his seat. And once he’s several rows ahead, both of you sigh out a breath of relief before snapping your eyes to meet. A smile quirks the corner of his lips and you can’t help the relieved giggle that bubbles out of you as you slump into you chair.

He loves it. He loves that laugh, and he finds his own smile spreading across his face. The two of you are so deep in this, its almost comical.

“So, when are we selling the movie rights for this story?” He says, lightening the mood and not helping to staunch your laughter in any capacity.

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you place a hand on your chest, exhaling shakily and trying not to fall into another fit of laughter. “We’re hopeless.” You can’t stand to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll be overwhelmed by a sense of loss, despite his attempt to bring the mood up.

Being unhelpful he says, “Terribly so.” Then the two of you fall silent. Though his leg shifts, pressing lightly against your own, and you do nothing about it. Selfishly allowing yourself to take comfort in the soft pressure, consoled by the fact that even though you feel very much alone—you are anything but.

When the plane lands, no words pass between the two of you, slipping into the routine of acting like there is nothing going on. And when you meet up with the faculty, none of them are the wiser as to how both of your emotions are roiling.

Kuroo’s heart is twisted into knots and your stomach feels uneasy.

Stepping out of the airport and waiting for the shuttle that will take you to the hotel, you feel unsettled, unable to shake the feeling that no matter what you do this convention won’t be quite as _professional_ as it should be.


End file.
